


As If You'd Committed a Terrible Crime

by moonheist



Series: Banishment [1]
Category: Merlin (TV), Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Murder, This Is Absolute Crack, War, logan echolls is a knight, morgana is his paramour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:39:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonheist/pseuds/moonheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wakes screaming, less than four hours later, Lord Echolls’ cruel laughter ringing in her ears and Logan’s lifeless body lying in the sand before her. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As If You'd Committed a Terrible Crime

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Livejournal August 29, 2009. Part 1 of 2 (for some reason).

When Uther announces that another knight will be joining Camelot’s ranks, Arthur gets a look on his face that nearly makes her snort wine out of her nose. Morgana composes herself carefully, waiving Gwen’s concern with a flick of her wrist. She places her goblet back on the table and turns her attention to the King, listening intently.

“Lord Echolls has been a dear friend to Camelot for many years. I expect you to treat his son with the respect he deserves,” Uther says sternly. Arthur looks bored.

“Of course, Sire,” he vows. She continues to be impressed with his level of control, particularly when it comes to his men. As loyal as they are to the crown and to Camelot, the majority of the knights are far more loyal to Arthur. Were he to turn traitor and take on Uther for the throne, she knows that he would win on man power alone.

If the energy she can feel pouring off of Merlin in waves means what she thinks it means, then Arthur will have far more than just man power to support his quest. She sends the prince a grin when Uther turns away and Arthur makes a face in return.

Rolling her eyes, Morgana gestures Gwen closer and asks for more wine, giving her a significant look while Uther retraces his steps and continues emphasizing each of Sir Echolls’ qualifications. She listens with one ear as she eats, uninterested in the virtues of yet another foreign knight. Those that were born and bred in Camelot hold little interest to her, but those that come from other kingdoms and attempt to fit into the ranks hold even less. She has deeper concerns than impressing a group of childish fighters.

Uther clears his throat rather pointedly and she breaks out of her thoughts to find both he and Arthur staring at her. While the former looks concerned, the latter looks smug and Morgana wants to reach across the table and smack the smirk off his face. Her glare is interrupted by another sound from Uther. “Morgana? Did you hear me?”

“I’m sorry, Sire,” she says. “I’m afraid I was caught up in my own head.” She smiles gently. He frowns and she tilts her head slightly, guileless. After a moment he shifts in his seat and nods.

“As I was saying, Sir Echolls has been terribly out of sorts since the passing of his intended. She was murdered just a few months ago,” he says seriously. Morgana feels her heart rate increase.

“Murdered? Did they catch the culprit?” Arthur asks. He sounds as though he is barely keeping his anger in check. She looks at him carefully, in awe of his devotion to the people. This woman wasn’t even a citizen of Camelot and still, he sounds ready to go to war for her sake.

“I don’t believe so,” Uther answers. “Lord Echolls informs me that the investigation led to several dead ends. He thinks it might be good for Logan to get out of the kingdom for a while, explore another part of the world. I can certainly attest to the power of change in healing a broken heart.”

The room falls silent at that, memories of Arthur’s mother permeating the air. Morgana has hardly even heard stories of the woman who gave birth to her pseudo-brother, but she knows how much it hurts Uther to discuss the death of the queen. Arthur stares at his food for the rest of the meal, not even bothering to snap at Merlin when he clumsily spills wine on Arthur’s tunic.

While the lower servants clean up the remnants of their meal, Morgana takes Gwen by the hand and pulls her out of the hall toward her rooms. As soon as the doors to her chambers are shut, Morgana flops down on her bed and sighs dramatically. Gwen remains silent, always the example of propriety, but Morgana catches the smirk she is unsuccessfully trying to repress.

“Come on, Gwen,” she teases. “Let’s hear it.”

“Hear what, my lady? I’ve nothing to say.” Gwen bites her bottom lip and Morgana grins. She sits up, patting the bed next to her in a friendly gesture. The two of them have been close for so long that she hardly bothers with the rules of propriety anymore.

Gwen approaches the bed slowly, but seems eager enough to slide onto it once Morgana smiles at her again. “Uther certainly seemed fond of the Echolls family,” Morgana prompts.

“Indeed,” Gwen agrees. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying to play matchmaker.” She giggles softly.

“Yes,” Morgana drawls. “Unfortunately, I think he is as well. He does love to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“He only wants the best for you.”

“I’d be more inclined to believe that if there wasn’t so much evidence to the contrary.” Morgana fixes the other girl with a pointed look. Gwen flushes and looks away, straightening an invisible wrinkle in the bedspread. The marks on Morgana’s wrists have long since faded after her night in the dungeons, but the bones still creak if she holds them a certain way. And now that her dreams are getting more vivid and even coming _true_ , she fears she might have to start hiding even more of herself if she wants to keep her head.

“It’s getting late,” Gwen says softly. She stands and gestures for Morgana to do the same, walking around the bed to help her get ready for bed. Morgana pulls her hair back while Gwen works at the lacing of her dress, loosening it with soft fingers.

“Would you like to come with me to watch the knights run their drills tomorrow, Gwen?”

A soft snort precedes the girl’s response. “Do you think Arthur will put Sir Echolls through his paces so soon after his arrival?”

“I’m counting on it.” Morgana grins and the two of them dissolve into laughter, her dress hanging half off her shoulders. Neither of them notices.

\--

The minute Sir Logan Echolls walks into the hall, Uther demands silence from the court. Morgana sits up a bit in her seat, subtlety craning her neck to see the man. She catches a flash of dirty blonde hair and a quick grin, but nothing impressive enough to make her embarrass herself trying to see more. She settles back and takes a sip of water, catching Gwen’s eye with a small grin.

“Welcome to Camelot, Sir Echolls,” Uther booms. Arthur looks like he is in physical pain as the knight steps up to the high table, head bowed in respect for the King.

“Thank you, Sire,” Logan says humbly. He tilts his head up and flashes a smile at Uther. “My father appreciates your willingness to host me during the length of my stay.”

“Your father is a good man and a great ally of this kingdom,” Uther replies. There is a rough murmur among the other knights, gathered to the side of the hall. Morgana looks at the cluster curiously; Arthur shifts in his seat and she darts her eyes over to him as well. He doesn’t look at her and she stamps down a fit of frustration.

For the next half hour, Logan swears his allegiance to Camelot and both Uther and Arthur accept his oath, the knights reluctantly accept another man into their tightly-knit circle, and Morgana continuously resists the urge to leave the proceedings for a more entertaining venue. She can see Merlin and Gwen chatting quietly in the back of the hall and her fondness for both of them is overrun by her jealousy of the fact that she has to remain at the high table, quiet and serious.

When Uther eventually dismisses everyone, including the remaining few peasants who haven’t had their chance to make their claims, Morgana grabs Arthur by the arm and drags him behind a pillar. He squawks indignantly.

“Shut up,” she says. He opens his mouth and she glares at him harshly. “Why did you look as though something had died when Lord Echolls was mentioned?”

“Must have smelled something foul,” he says dryly. She rolls her eyes.

“And your men? Did they also smell something foul?”

“They were standing rather close to my end of the table,” Arthur replies, in a tone that implies she must be slow or just utterly stupid. “It wouldn’t be unheard of.”

“You’re a bloody nuisance, Arthur Pendragon,” she hisses. “I will find out what made you squirm like that.”

“I’ve no doubt about that. You know everything, after all.” He smiles cheekily and walks away, calling for Merlin with more affection than he probably intends. She watches the two of them leave the hall together, Arthur’s head tilted toward Merlin attentively. For a moment, her irritation vanishes. With a small smile of approval, she makes her own way over to Gwen. They have work to do.

\--

Several of the knights of Camelot are utter scum, though they never reveal their true colors if they know what’s good for them. Morgana sits on a low wall surrounding the castle gardens and watches Arthur put them through their paces, carefully ignoring the way that they glance at her each time they get a hit with their practice swords, seeking her approval. She has seen the way they treat the lower servants and she has no intention of giving any of them her attention if she can help it.

Gwen sits next to her, sewing a patch in the lining of one of Morgana’s furs. She looks up every so often to see what’s happening with the men, but otherwise she seems content to sit in the sun and enjoy the day. Morgana watches her for a while, admiring the confidence with which she applies needle to fabric. A soft clank of metal on metal draws her gaze away and she freezes when she notices one of Arthur’s knights standing directly in front of her.

“Done so soon?” she asks casually. She raises her eyes against the sun and almost laughs when she identifies the man. Sir Echolls grins at her and she’s surprised by how boyish it makes him look. When he lowers his head and scratches at the back of his neck, he looks even younger. Morgana swallows.

“Merely taking a break, my lady,” he tells her. “I wanted to introduce myself properly. Sir Logan Echolls of Neptonia, at your service.” He bows low and holds out his hand, eyes raised to hers. She stares at him for a moment and then nods, offering her hand.

He presses a gentle, proper kiss to her knuckles and she feels the contact shiver up her arm and jumpstart her heart. The sensation shocks her into jerking her hand back. She feels rude, but he hardly seems put off as he stands and smiles at her again. For a moment, Morgana considers smiling in return.

“Sir Echolls!” Arthur snaps. His tone breaks her out of her thoughts quite nicely and she resists the urge to scowl as she looks over Logan’s shoulder at her pseudo-brother. Arthur has that look again, as though something has died and been left to rot just beneath his nose. She squints at him even as Logan turns. “If I need you to flirt with the King’s ward, I’ll inform you straight away. Back to work.” He gestures impatiently and Logan nods.

Without another word or even a glance back at Morgana, Logan jogs out onto the practice field and joins his fellow knights. She stares after him and then sends Arthur a glare that could probably kill, if that sort of thing could happen without magic. Gwen lets out a quiet snort next to her and Morgana bites her bottom lip to keep from smiling.

“Something amusing, Gwen?” she wonders loftily.

“Merely the overprotective tendencies of certain men,” Gwen responds, just as haughtily. “I do believe you could inspire a civil war with your beauty.”

“Oh hush.” Morgana swats her on the arm and Gwen grins, ducking her head as she finishes up the patch. She holds up the furs with a flourish and Morgana applauds, laughing at the flush that fills her servant’s cheeks.

She sees movement out of the corner of her eye and turns her head just as Logan looks up from his combat scenario, directly at her. Her laugh dies abruptly and Arthur swats Logan over the head with his practice sword, bellowing about death and the difference a single second can make. Logan sits on the ground and unsuccessfully hides a glare as he looks up at the prince, jaw clenched in frustration.

“Again!” Arthur shouts. Logan stands and swings his practice sword with a practiced swivel of his wrist. He glances at Morgana once more, grins, and then launches himself into the duel with Arthur. Gwen is just as glued to the scene as she is and they both wince when Arthur takes him down again, this time landing a sharp blow to his ribs. The padded armor the men wear for drills allows for minimal injury, but Morgana knows the limitations of chain mail. Had this been an actual battle, Logan would be dead.

The thought makes something squirm deep in her intestines and she isn’t sure why. Arthur tells everyone to get some rest before the evening patrol and the men disperse amiably, some of them clapping Logan on the back as they pass. He rises slowly, trailing after the others and lingering near the edge of the field as he drinks from a half-empty water skin.

Morgana carefully slides off the garden wall, helping Gwen down without a second thought. Her servant smiles gratefully, then winks and heads toward the castle with her basket of sewing supplies. Morgana watches her go and nearly misses the quiet cough near her left shoulder.

“I believe I just made an arse of myself,” Logan says wryly. She grins and shrugs, shooting him a look over her shoulder as she starts walking toward the castle.

“It’s only the first day. It’ll surely get worse from here,” she promises. He scoffs and she laughs quietly. Calculating her pace so as not to appear too eager to get away, she turns her smile forward and catches sight of Merlin and Arthur out of the corner of her eye. The two of them slip away to a quiet path next to the garden that leads into the less populated area of the village. Her eyes crinkle and she pretends not to notice how close they are walking, hands brushing with each step. It makes her heart ache in a pleasant way.

\--

Uther sends a servant to inform her that dinner has been cancelled, due to the prince’s disappearance after the evening patrol. Morgana keeps her theories about Arthur’s whereabouts to herself and shares a significant look with Gwen after the servant departs, promising food upon her return.

“Was your afternoon everything you hoped it would be?” Gwen asks. She prods at the fire to bring the flames back to life and then sighs, giving up the cause after several minutes of trying. Morgana smiles indulgently and gestures for Gwen to join her at the table. She sits in the adjacent chair and tucks her hands beneath her legs.

“To tell you the truth, I was expecting a more raucous initiation,” she says thoughtfully. “They went rather easy on Sir Echolls.”

“His father is a very powerful lord. Uther did remind Arthur to treat him with respect last night at dinner. You heard him.”

“Well yes, but Arthur’s received those warnings before and it’s never stopped him from letting the men have some fun.” Morgana leans back in her chair and exhales heavily. The room is silent for a long time and then she lights up, sitting forward and leaning into Gwen across the table. “Uther mentioned that Logan’s intended was murdered recently, right?”

Gwen furrows her brow. “Yes, I recall something along those lines.”

“Did you notice how uncomfortable the men looked this morning at court when Uther mentioned Lord Echolls?” Morgana bounces a bit, propriety forgotten in her excitement. “Do you think he had something to do with the girl’s death?”

“What makes you think that?” Gwen asks, bewildered. “No offense intended, my lady, but that seems a mighty strange conclusion.”

Morgana shakes her head. “Not if you think about it. Uther has always been very concerned about Lord Echolls’ true intentions toward Camelot, though he never says as much. Arthur claims their treaty is all for show and now his son is here, just months after his intended was brutally murdered and her killer never found. It makes sense that Lord Echolls would send Logan away if he thought his son was getting close to figuring out his secret, does it not?”

Gwen stares at her for a long, long time. Morgana’s excitement fades with each passing moment, doubt creeping in around the edges of her theory. A servant comes to deliver their dinner and Morgana convinces Gwen to stay and eat with her when she moves to take her plate down to the kitchens. They eat in companionable silence, but there is a slight awkward edge to the quiet that makes Morgana more nervous than she’d like to admit.

As Gwen helps her into her nightshift, Morgana stares out the window and spots someone sitting in the courtyard, alone. She moves away from Gwen and leans against the sill, squinting until she identifies Sir Echolls himself, standing next to the garden wall she had been sitting on that afternoon. She sighs and asks Gwen to pull her curtains shut as she falls into bed, thoughts of murder and Logan doing little to deter the new sleeping potion Gaius has sent. She falls asleep to the sound of the curtains swishing together and Gwen’s soft footsteps on the flagstone.

\--

She wakes screaming, less than four hours later, Lord Echolls’ cruel laughter ringing in her ears and Logan’s lifeless body lying in the sand before her. Gwen shakes her out of her stupor after several terrifying moments where Morgana isn’t sure what’s real and what’s not, visions of her chambers swimming in between visions of her nightmare with such muddled clarity it makes her breathless.

“It’s alright, my lady,” Gwen murmurs, stroking her hair gently. Morgana leans into the touch and gasps, chest heaving as she tries to regain control of her breathing.

“Merlin,” she whispers. “I need Merlin.”

\--

Morgana finishes her story with tears pearling in her eyes. Merlin nods and then swallows audibly, pushing his fringe away from his forehead. He props himself against the wall next to her bed and folds his arms across his chest, clearly uncomfortable. “Did this one feel like the others?” he asks eventually.

“Sort of,” she tells him. “Less real, I think. But it broke through the effects of Gaius’ potion. That has to mean _something_ , right?”

He inhales sharply and shakes his head. “I don’t know, Morgana. I’m not familiar with seers,” he says. She knows he isn’t; he’s told her as much on several occasions, now. But she has no idea who else to talk to about these nightmares, these _visions_.

“I’m sorry, Merlin.” He looks at her and she smiles sadly. “I don’t mean to keep dragging you from your bed. You should get your rest.” He flushes brilliantly and she arches an eyebrow, but he doesn’t seem to notice either reaction.

“Do you truly believe that Sir Echolls is in danger?”

She thinks about it for a while. Merlin remains silent, observing her from his post by the wall and she nibbles her lip as his scrutiny intensifies. “No,” she says honestly. “I do believe that his father has done something horrible.”

“Have you discussed this with Uther?” he asks softly. Morgana laughs bitterly.

“Yes, so that I might spend another night in the dungeons? Maybe even two?” She looks at him sadly and shakes her head. “I can’t trust Uther with something so delicate.”

His expression tightens and he looks away even as he pushes off of the wall. “What about Arthur?”

She closes her eyes. “I suppose I could ask you the same question.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

He leaves shortly thereafter, the air thick with the secrets that exist between them. She falls back against her pillows and breathes deeply, wondering if she’s not simply going mad.

\--

Days go by without another dream and eventually Morgana chooses to mark her nightmare down as exactly that: a nightmare. Gwen doesn’t mention that night, bless her, though the few times that Morgana sees Merlin outside of Arthur’s presence are awkward. He keeps opening his mouth like he wants to talk to her and she keeps using her rank to keep him quiet. It makes her feel like a terrible human being, but she’d rather have the guilt than his concern.

Whenever she passes Sir Echolls in the hallway, she feels sick. It takes a while for her to notice the perpetually sad expression he seems to have, but once she does she can’t shake her mind of the idea that something _terrible_ has happened to this man, something even beyond the murder of his future wife.

On a whim, she invites him to eat dinner in one of the smaller banquet halls and asks Uther to be excused from the family meal. The king is absolutely beside himself with joy – in a stoic way that really only Uther can get away with – and Morgana and Gwen laugh over the prospect of an engagement to Logan for so long Morgana’s stomach begins to ache.

The mood at dinner is decidedly less cheerful, even with the presence of Logan’s incredibly moronic manservant. Richard, as he is called, is more of a jester than a servant really. Each time he goes to refill Logan’s goblet, he inevitably makes an inappropriate comment or attempts to do his duties with a physical flourish that ends in spilled wine and Logan’s cheeks getting redder and redder in his embarrassment.

She would laugh except for the fact that it’s sort of sad. She makes a mental note to inform Arthur that Merlin is no longer the least qualified servant in the kingdom and bites back a smile at the thought of his reaction.

Morgana clears her throat half an hour into the meal and smiles at him softly. “How is Camelot treating you, Sir Echolls?”

He smiles somewhat ruefully and locks eyes with her. She feels her breath catch inexplicably. “My stay has been very enjoyable, Lady Morgana.” He says her name so slowly it’s almost filthy. A little shiver runs down her back and she shifts in her seat, shooting Gwen a look that she hopes he doesn’t catch.

“Your training seems to be going well,” she prompts.

“Oh, yes. Arthur is a talented commander,” he replies. She grins at the sour look on his face and he catches her, returns the smile. “He’s very protective of you.”

Her cheeks feel hot and she ducks her head to hide the flush. “Well,” she begins, clearing her throat. “He has his moments.”

Logan laughs, loud and clear. Morgana looks up at him and he shakes his head. “Oh, my lady, you have _no_ idea.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demands, suddenly indignant. Logan stares at her for a long moment and then shrugs, as though physically shirking propriety will somehow make the conversation less painful.

“Pardon me for saying it, my lady, but several of the knights are more than aware of your _considerable_ beauty.” She sits up straighter in her chair and arches an eyebrow. He smirks and leans forward. “Prince Arthur has made it his personal mission to make sure that _none_ of them can ever touch you.”

“Good on him,” she seethes. “If only the men in this castle would realize that I can _take care of myself_ —”

“—I’ve no doubt about that. Though I can’t say I blame him,” he says calmly. He takes a sip of his wine and then sighs, somewhat sadly. “Then again, I also can’t say that I’m immune to your charms.”

Morgana bites the inside of her bottom lip and silently fumes. She can feel Gwen’s own anger radiating from the side of the hall, a result of their close friendship. Idly, she thinks of Uther and his insane matchmaking ideals. Unfortunately, she can’t say she’s completely immune to Logan’s charms, either.

“Hmm,” she murmurs. “Yet you have not once beaten Arthur on the practice field.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, if you truly wanted to prove yourself worthy of my affections, surely you would challenge the only man standing in your way.”

“He’s not the only man I have to impress,” Logan replies quickly. He swallows audibly and shifts, clearly uncomfortable. “In fact, he’s a secondary concern.”

“Who might be your first obstacle, then?” she asks quietly. Gwen breathes in sharply and Richard looks suddenly enthralled with the conversation, a clear shift from his earlier dumbstruck expression.

Logan folds his hands on the edge of the table and locks eyes with her carefully. Morgana holds his gaze, feeling heat prickle at the edges of her spine.

“You, my lady,” he says finally. She breathes in slowly and refuses to notice her heart as it thumps loudly against her ribcage. “Arthur might be protective of his father’s ward, but it is his father’s ward whose approval I seek.”

She presses her fingers hard against the arms of her chair. After a lengthy silence, she laughs softly and tilts her head back, chin raised in defiance. She stands from the table and nods for Logan to do the same as the servants move forward to clear the table.

As she passes him on her way out the door, she catches his wrist and leans in closer than she is strictly allowed. “I wish you luck in your obstacle course, Sir Logan Echolls of Neptonia.”

With a fleeting smile, she leaves the hall. If she walks to her chambers at a pace that would normally be called a run, no one is around to notice.

\--

Arthur confronts her about the dinner the next day. Morgana rolls her eyes and folds her arms across her chest as he walks into her chambers. “It’s polite to knock before entering someone’s private rooms,” she scolds.

He glares at her. “No one else in this bloody castle seems to realize that.”

“Oh, so you’re sinking to the level of everyone else, then?” She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and grins. “That’s hardly the behavior of a prince, Arthur.”

“My father tells me you had dinner alone with Sir Echolls last night.” He clenches his hands into fists and then releases them. The action is so quick she’s almost convinced she imagined it; when he does it again, she decides to take pity.

“I did. It was a lovely evening,” she says honestly. He scoffs and she rolls her eyes again. “Really, Arthur, if you’re not going to tell me where this hostility is coming from—”

“I don’t trust his father,” he snaps, cutting her off. Morgana realizes her jaw is hanging open and closes it with a soft click. “It doesn’t please me that he’s turned his attentions on you so soon after arriving, either.”

“Uther dotes on Lord Echolls,” she prompts. “What reason do you have for not trusting his judgment?”

Arthur seethes, silent. She unfolds her arms and sits on a nearby chair, watching him carefully. After a while, he groans roughly and shoves a hand through his hair. She furrows her brow in concern; it’s rare that he loses his composure this way.

“Several young girls of Logan’s acquaintance have gone missing or been found murdered in the last two years,” he tells her. “I’ve spent enough time with him since he’s been here that I don’t believe he’s had anything to do with it. His father, on the other hand…” He trails off.

She clears her throat. “Lord Echolls appeared in one of my dreams last week.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he demands. Morgana sighs heavily, losing patience with this line of questioning. “Morgana, it seems to me that Neptonia has royal secrets that may surpass even ours. If you have information, you need to tell me at once.”

“I don’t know anything,” she says seriously. “I just have a feeling, is all. Logan seems _damaged_ somehow, as though his lack of self-esteem has been hammered into him all his life.”

He nods as he considers her thoughts. For a moment, she feels tears pricking the backs of her eyes. Merlin was right; she should have come to Arthur with her suspicions long ago.

“He fancies you,” he says finally. That now-familiar thrill shoots up her spine. She doesn’t reply and eventually he sighs, locking eyes with her. “If you think he’s worthy, then I won’t interfere.”

Morgana stands and crosses to him, throwing her arms around him without preamble. Arthur stiffens at the touch, but she clings to his shoulders and he relaxes slowly, returning her hug. “You’re a good man, Arthur Pendragon.” Her voice is rough, torn with emotion that she refuses to otherwise acknowledge.

“And you’re a brilliant woman,” he replies softly. He lets go of her and leaves without another word, leaving her alone in her chambers. She crosses to the window and watches the people milling about the courtyard for a while, then gathers her furs and dresses herself, desperate for fresh air.

She makes her way toward the practice field on impulse. There is a feeling tugging at the base of her spine that she can’t quite ignore, no matter how hard she tries. When Morgana reaches the garden wall she so likes to sit on as she watches the knights run their drills, she finds Logan already there, peeling at the stem of a very tall weed.

He looks up when she gets closer and smiles brilliantly. For a moment, she considers nodding and walking right past him, but courtesy forces her to stop and give him a proper greeting.

“I don’t believe I thanked you for joining me at dinner last night,” she calls laughingly. Logan’s smile shifts to a smirk and she really does laugh at the mischief in his expression.

“You didn’t,” he teases. He offers his hand to help her onto the wall and she takes it gratefully, adjusting her skirts as she settles in next to him. “Though your parting words were more than enough to make up for the slip,” he says softly. She looks up sharply and he ducks his head, red blooming in his cheeks.

“It seems your obstacle course is getting smaller,” she says. He arches an eyebrow and she grins, looking out over the empty field. A stray practice sword has been left overnight; she focuses on the object as she speaks. “I had a visit from Prince Arthur this morning.”

“Really?” he wonders.

“He seems to think I’m capable of choosing my own suitors,” she continues. She betrays nothing in her tone, though she does bite back a smile at Logan’s nervous laughter.

They sit in silence for a while and then Morgana recklessly jumps off the wall. Logan tilts his head and hops down as well. She nods toward the path back to the castle and he follows her wordlessly. After a few minutes of wandering, slowly enough to be beaten by a snail, she boldly reaches for his hand.

Logan curls his fingers around hers and Morgana smiles. She tugs him into a tiny room on the side of the castle that the servants sometimes use for illicit trysts. Gwen blushingly confessed to her knowledge of its location after she went missing one afternoon and Morgana begged and pleaded until her friend finally showed her where it could be found.

His eyes are wide and shocked and she shakes her head as she pulls him toward her, pressing her lithe form against his. “My lady,” he whispers, haltingly. She bites her bottom lip and leans in further, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair.

“This is hardly the time or place for propriety, Logan,” she murmurs. He shudders and she kisses him soundly, reaches around him to pull at the barricade on the door. It slips into place and she rests her hand on his waist, clenches her fingers in the fabric of his tunic.

She runs her tongue along the seam of his lips and he parts them almost immediately; she licks into his mouth and groans indelicately when he tangles their tongues together. Logan wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her forward, aligning their hips in a way that makes them both shudder. He tugs at her furs with his free hand, tossing them aside without a care.

Morgana pulls at the hem of his tunic, breaking away to gasp for air as he trails wet, dirty kisses across her jaw and down her neck. He pauses at the hollow of her throat to suck deeply. She feels her skin flare with heat and he pulls back just before he leaves a permanent mark.

“Morgana,” he whispers brokenly. “ _Morgana_ ,” he repeats, groaning as she slips a hand just inside the waist of his trousers.

“Congratulations, Sir Echolls,” she whispers teasingly. His head falls back as she undoes his laces and slips her hand around the base of his cock. “You’ve conquered your obstacle course.”

He kisses her hard enough to bruise and she strokes him slowly, mimicking the rhythm with her tongue. Logan grabs handfuls of her hair and _tugs_ ; she moans into his mouth and runs her thumb over the head of his cock, feeling the wetness there.

It doesn’t take long for him to spill over her hand, warm wetness coating her fingers and wrist. They both fall somewhat clumsily to the straw floor when his legs give out and she laughs joyously, presses light, playful kisses to every inch of skin she can reach. He shudders for a while and then goes limp against her. She wipes her hand on the inside of his trousers and cradles him close, eyes shut.

The burn between her thighs is just beginning to fade when Logan reaches for the ties on her dress, looking up at her questioningly. She stares at him for a moment and then bites her bottom lip with a decisive nod.

None of the servants are able to get into the room for hours after that.

\--

Morgana watches the knights’ practice the following week and is utterly amazed at how quickly Logan moves on the field. Arthur matches him blow for blow, but she can tell that the prince is just as tired as his opponent. She feels a little triumphant on behalf of her lover; this is the first time he’s been able to keep up and she knows she has something to do with his renewed spirit.

Since the first time, they have found several other hidden areas of the castle to be alone. Her bed has shown the marks of more than one body for several nights as well, but Gwen hasn’t pried and Morgana loves her for it. The wonderful thing about staying up with Logan is that she falls into a dreamless sleep all on her own, too exhausted to make sense of the blurry images prodding at her subconscious.

“Well done, Echolls,” Arthur shouts, abandoning his helmet on the ground. He spits near it and Merlin all but runs to his side, water skin in hand. Arthur grins at him and takes the drink; even from this distance, Morgana can see the flush in the servant’s cheeks. She laughs softly.

Logan takes his own water from Richard, who seems to be dressed in an _actual_ jester’s suit today, and tosses his helmet in Morgana’s direction. She watches it roll and shakes her head at his obvious acknowledgement of her presence.

They don’t speak until well after the rest of the men have cleared off the field, but the few words they do manage to get in are packed with meaning and innuendo. Morgana feels giddy and out of control as she watches him head off to join the others for the evening patrol. For once, she welcomes the feeling.

“He seems much more content lately,” Arthur observes, coming up behind her. She turns to look at him and nods warily.

“It’s good that he’s adjusting so well,” she agrees. He looks at her for a long moment and then shakes his head, taking her hand gently.

“You seem much more content as well,” he says quietly. Morgana consciously focuses on not flushing under his scrutiny. He laughs at the expression on her face and she rolls her eyes, trying to take her hand from his grasp. Arthur tightens his hold. “It’s a good thing, Morgana. I’m not trying to embarrass you.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that,” she hisses. He lets go of her and she holds both hands behind her back, still wary. “Is he staying, then?”

“It appears he doesn’t have much choice,” he says gravely. She widens her eyes and he looks at her seriously. “Lord Echolls banished him from the kingdom last night. My father just received word from the messenger.”

“What does that mean?” She feels breathless, dizzy.

He stares at a point just beyond her shoulder and sighs heavily. “There isn’t going to be a war. Not yet, anyway.” Morgana exhales slowly and steps closer to him. He shakes himself and smiles sadly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a rare moment of affection. “I suggest you hold onto what the two of you have together.”

She sees Merlin approach out of the corner of her eye and smiles. “Hmm,” she agrees warmly. Pulling away from the prince, she watches as he catches the other man’s eye. He flushes a bit and his eyes light up; it reminds her of the way Logan looked at her as he stepped off the field today.

“I think you should heed your own advice,” she says softly. Arthur looks at her, startled, and she laughs as she heads back toward the castle.

\--

Logan comes straight to her chambers when he finds out. He’s righteously angry in a way she can’t quite understand, but he touches her and kisses her and he feels so broken she can hardly stand it. She can’t find the words he wants to hear, she knows, so she returns his caresses and tugs him toward her bed.

“Stay,” she whispers. Logan shudders against her and she kisses his neck, his ears, his shoulders. “ _Stay_.”

\--

She dreams of war that night; blood covers the faces of men she loves to hate and in the middle of it all, Logan faces his father, terrifying and beautiful in his wrath. Morgana shudders awake just as the sun begins to rise. This time, it was a vision. She can feel it in her bones, an uncomfortable heat that she can’t escape.

When Gwen bursts into the room twenty minutes later, rambling about Uther and treaties and court, Morgana closes her eyes and wishes she hadn’t been expecting it.


End file.
